


ad libitum

by sycamoretrees



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretrees/pseuds/sycamoretrees
Summary: ‘Do you want to come over and fuck me?’ Trixie says, in lieu of a greeting.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 19
Kudos: 107





	ad libitum

**Author's Note:**

> Sincerest gratitude to [beanierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose) and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter) for their invaluable beta services e.g. 'i love this but you've used the word 'down' 4 times in this paragraph'.
> 
> Pronouns are she/her for Trixie and he/him for Katya.
> 
> Be cool and respect the fourth wall. Anything else is super weird for everyone involved.

‘Do you want to come over and fuck me?’ Trixie says, in lieu of a greeting. 

Trixie will be the first to admit she wasn’t raised right, but she’s aware it’s blunt even for her. It’s been a rough few weeks - months, really, if she’s being honest. Public breakups always seemed fun at a distance, the drama and the intrigue, lots of flouncing, very gay. Sexy, even, a great excuse to have drinks bought for you in bars and then ignore everyone while you drank stoically. 

As it turns out, it’s mostly just sad. This one had been messy, humiliating half-truths spread through the WeHo gossip machine. Trixie became angrier with every fake-concerned DM and sympathetic look from people she doesn’t know. She’s listened to a lot of Alanis Morisette. She’s eaten a lot of ice cream. She’s watched Clueless a number of times that was maybe medically unsafe.

Katya’s steam-engine laugh rings out over the phone line. ‘I think you misdialed, Jennifer.’

‘No, I’m serious,’ she replies defiantly. ‘It’s a simple question, yes or no.’

‘Are you…’ he starts, and then there’s a long pause where she can hear him wanting to ask if she’s alright. She lets the silence drag out, daring him to try it. And, like she knew he would, he folds. ‘OK, then.’

‘Great, be here at 3,’ she says, and hangs up. 

This isn’t something Trixie would have done a couple of years ago. Even now that Katya’s decision-making runs along more considered lines than those of the raccoon Trixie used to watch stealing takeout boxes from the garbage cans behind her old apartment, she could just go on Grindr and find some LA gay who doesn’t know all her business. Even then, for what Trixie needs right now? At least with Katya she can be sure that he’ll know what he’s doing. She can get what she wants without having to deal with all the peripheral bullshit that goes along with some stranger. Right now, she gets to have this because she wants it.

She’s bringing that energy to straightening up her house before he arrives, stomping around her pussy-pink rooms washing plates and folding laundry. She can fuck whoever she wants, right? Right. It’s not like she’s been jerking off a lot in the last few days but yeah, OK, maybe she has ordered a new iPad because her old one has too many viruses from porn site pop-ups. It’s a level of horniness she usually associates with being on tour or, Jesus Christ, those weeks spent locked up in hotel rooms filming her Drag Race seasons. This isn’t even about Katya; this is about Trixie, who shouldn’t have to live like this as a sucessful semi-famous homosexual in the 21st century who’s at least a 7 even in LA. 

‘I’m a big slut who doesn’t care,’ she says out loud to an empty room. 

When Katya shows up it’s blazing sunshine outside, disappointingly incongruous with the whole Wronged Woman Manifests Her Own Slutty Destiny vibe Trixie is going for. He's dressed all in black with jeans and a baseball cap because, like, fuck Trixie's whole sordid hookup fantasy, while Trixie's stretched-out muscle tank, ankle socks and thin sweatpants are conveying _hungry bottom_ as well as any outfit realistically could. Katya’s brought fucking Starbucks, which he waggles brightly at Trixie when she opens the door. That is so not the story here but whatever, this is happening. 

Trixie hustles him inside, takes the iced latte that Katya proffers and says 'thanks' before putting it on the counter without taking a sip. He grabs the coffee Katya's drinking out of his hand and puts that down too. 

'Oh, I thought you might want to ta- ' Katya gets out before Trixie's pushing him down onto the couch and climbing on top of him. Trixie's thighs are spread over Katya's lap and Katya is solid and running hot underneath her and this is what she needs, something visceral and male. She grabs Katya's face and kisses him, ignoring the startled noise he makes and grasping at his shoulder instead, his bicep, all this bulk Katya never had before. 

She rolls her hips against Katya's lap and Katya groans, hands shooting to Trixie's ass. If Trixie shifts, maybe she can get Katya to hold tight, maybe get him to grab on and spread her apart, to pull Trixie onto him like they're fucking already. But instead Katya stops her, holds her still when she tries to grind down again, and pulls his face away from hers.

'Hi, hello, how was your morning, Susan?' he says, with this laughing tone like he's humouring her. She wants to fuck it out of him. Trixie ignores him and leans back in, but he pulls away again, eyeing her warily like she's an unleashed circus animal. 'Seriously, are you OK?' 

This is exactly the kind of wishy-washy bullshit she didn't sign up for, that she chose him to avoid. She sits back on her heels and glares at him.

'Look, do you want to chat or do you want to fuck? Because I want to fuck,' she says, impatiently.

Katya looks unconvinced, but also like he's constitutionally incapable of saying that he doesn't want to fuck, which was pretty much why she asked him in the first place. He breathes in and out a couple of times — you do yoga, we get it — and doesn’t look at her, his hands unnaturally still on her hips. 

'Look, I just know you're going through something right now,' he starts, and nope, they are not fucking doing that, no fucking way. 

'OK, seriously?' she says, cutting him off. 'You want to talk about feelings? You?' He blinks up at her, looking a little chastened, she thinks. It's not _not_ sweet, in a way. On another day she'd appreciate that he's trying, like when she goes to Mexico on vacation and manages a couple of _cerveza_s and the odd _gracias_, to reach her with this foreign language of emotions and delicacy. But that's for a more patient, circumspect time, when Trixie hasn't worn out the battery in her dildo jerking it to stepbrother porn clips, and when she hasn't gotten so sick of dealing with people's comments about her breakup that she's uninstalled Twitter.

'Listen, bitch,' she says, and then has to take a beat to dial down her natural cunt response. 

She tries again, breathier this time, lower and tighter in her throat. 'Listen, we could talk about feelings right now,' she says, starting to grind down again ever so slightly. 'But you know that's not what I want, mama.' 

She leans in closer, lets her lips just brush the shell of his ear. 'I want you to take me into that bedroom and pound me into the fucking mattress,' she murmurs, as close to moaning as she thinks she can get away with. He's holding on to her again, the gentlest pressure guiding her hips; she doesn't think he even realises he's doing it. 

'You sure you don't wanna fuck this ass, baby?' she says, rolling her whole body against him like it's a lap dance. Like, she did not expect to have to work this hard, but she's kind of feeling it.

'That's a low fucking blow,' Katya groans at that, but it doesn't matter because he's kissing her back, spreading one hand over her ass, planting his feet more firmly so he can push back up against her. She can taste the coffee he was drinking and she wants to flood him with her taste until there's nothing else left. She's pulling out all the stops, licking messy and dirty into his mouth and pushing her dick against his stomach. His fingers are drifting inwards as she grinds, just ghosting over her hole through her sweats, and she's been ready to go since 10 this morning when she called him. 

'Yeah, want your fingers, daddy,' she says, and he chokes against her mouth. 

'Oh Jesus no, that is not happening,' he says, sounding appalled, and _fine_, God, this is the most fucking work she's ever had to do in her life.

'Oh my God, okay, “_I want your fingers, you fucking bitch_,”’ is that better?'

He grins like she's amusing, and not a total nightmare. 

'Better, but you're still a cunt,' he says. ‘We have got to move off this sofa, I can feel my spine herniating.' 

Trixie kind of doesn't want to, like if she moves it's going to destroy this bubble of heavy breathing and saliva, and the outside world will come rushing in between them. She'd ride him right here, maybe, get lube all over her pink fluffy cushions, have him sweat into her couch so her house remembers what they did. Make him stare up at her while she took his dick, all golden and perfect for him, make him claw at the armrests while he comes inside her in her own living room.

Instead, he wriggles out from under her, stretching like those tall skinny assholes at the gym who wear leggings and talk about fucking maca root. He looks different when he does that now, husky for the new decade, and she can see his nipples and his broad pecs where the fabric of his t-shirt is stretched thin. It should be illegal how easy it was for him to bulk up. It took her months and she still had to wear two corsets to have a waist, and this crackhead ate a couple of ice cream sandwiches and did two pull-ups and suddenly he's fucking Ryan Reynolds.

He notices her glowering at him and preens, cocking a hip like a bad Instagram model. She rolls her eyes and unfolds from where she'd been sulking on the couch. 

'Fine, let's fuck in a bed like straight people,' she says, stalking past him to her bedroom without checking to see if he follows her. She pulls off her tank when she gets there, and shoves some of the decorative pillows off the bed. 

She'd made it all pretty before he came over, drawing the blinds in the living room and leaving just a couple of lamps on, everything moody pink and sexy. Katya had looked like an aging Hot Topic employee against the soft furnishings. The blinds are drawn in here too, and she almost wishes she'd done a whole Belle De Jour boudoir thing, a silk robe and maribou trimmed heels. He'd probably be into that, although he'd want to be the one wearing the robe. Should she do a sexy pose on the bed? Her huge boner would kind of ruin that vibe. He hasn't said anything about her dick yet, and she kind of wants him to. Kind of wants him to be impressed, to flip out over it a bit. He's not really a size queen, she knows, but you give credit where it's due, right?

'Every time I come here I remember what a huge fag you truly are,' Katya says to the room at large, making her jump. He's taken his shoes off - she hadn't given him a chance before, jumping him like a dog in heat - and he's barefoot in her bedroom, and it's - it feels like - like whatever, like nothing. This fucking breakup has got her in her feelings and she's sick of it, sick of her friends tiptoeing around her and sick of playing sad songs on her guitar like a fucking cliche. 

'Get your dick out,' she says, and shoves off her sweatpants unceremoniously. She grabs lube and condoms from the nightstand, leaves it open so he can see what else is in there. She bought some new stuff after the breakup, cockrings and plugs and even a flogger, even though she's not really into all that. She hasn't used the flogger yet, or the cockrings. After her first Grindr hookup said 'that's crazy what happened with your ex, oh my God' while his whole entire dick was in her mouth, she kicked him out, jerked off furiously in the shower and then cried for 20 minutes until the water ran cold. She hasn't hooked up since.

Katya's really quiet, which is kind of unsettling. When she sits down on the bed and looks at him he's doing what she asked. He’s taken off his t-shirt and jeans and left them, folded, on the armchair in the corner. He pulls off his briefs and then there he is, naked, hard dick and all, standing in her bedroom. She isn't planning on staring at him but then, fuck it, she's allowed. Who's going to judge her, Katya? Please.

He looks smaller with his clothes off; he always does, like his presence shrinks down once he's not in drag. He talks about his boy clothes as drag as well - a little pretentious in Trixie’s opinion, but it makes sense to her that this condensed, contained Katya only exists when he's naked.

'So, what do you want to do?' he says. Fuck, she's drifting again, losing focus. She knew getting off the couch was a bad idea. 

'I want you to fuck me,' she says. She lets her legs splay out a little and watches his eyes flick down, luxuriates in being watched. 'Come on,' she says, running her palm over the crease of one thigh, not touching her dick. 'I want it.' 

Katya stares for a moment, blinking slowly, and then - 

'Yes, okay, fuck,' he manages, climbing onto the bed gracelessly and dropping down towards her in a rush. 'You're so sexy, is this okay?' he says a little wildly, his face an inch away from her dick, like Trixie hasn't been all but bending over in front of him since he walked in the door. 

'Obviously,' she says, and he sinks down onto her dick moaning like a fucking porn star. It's outrageous, and it's worse still that she finds it so hot. She gasps loud enough that he can definitely hear.

Trixie absolutely fucking does not tear up, even though his mouth feels so hot and so good on her, and she's been needing this for - well, since that Grindr nightmare, for sure. His tongue is all flat pressure and friction, sending pleasure through her so sharp and quick it's almost painful. He shifts and then there's pressure against her perineum, his thumb or a knuckle, and it's too much, too fast, she can't, not yet. 

'Fuck, fuck,' she chokes out desperately, 'fuck, _Brian_,' pushing at his shoulders. He's already humid under her fingertips, hot and sweating. He pulls off immediately, and the air feels shockingly cold on her dick in contrast.

'What's - why not?' he asks, but she can't answer, her chest heaving.

She swallows once, twice, against the tightness in her throat. Her hands are balled up so tight she can feel her nails against her palms, and she flexes her fingers, opening her eyes to see him kneeling on the bed just below her. He looks - his wet mouth, redness spreading over his neck and his chest, thighs even thicker from how he's sitting. He looks like that, and she thinks, _shit_.

She pushes him over when he crawls back on top of her, using her (minimal, fuck you) extra weight to bully him onto his back. He's kind of bony when she settles down, hip bones poking into her abdomen in a way she could do without, but he twitches gratifyingly when she sucks at his neck and grinds her dick against his. 

'You're kind of squirmy,' she tells him, and he makes a stupid noise at her and does a full-body wiggle that is, objectively, obnoxious. She shuffles down, finally getting the meat of his pec between her teeth.

'Careful Barbara, I haven't had my tetanus shot,' he says breathlessly, and she tells him she hates him, and she’s back on track. She bites at one of his nipples until he says that it doesn't really do anything for him, which is disappointing because she kind of, a little bit, wants to rub herself against his tits until she comes. Clearly she just wasn't meant to have nice things.

She's 30 seconds in to feeling his dick in her hand when he says, 'Okay, this is lovely, but if you want something more advanced we gotta get to the main show,' which, what kind of prom night low stamina nonsense? It’s a nice dick, not the best dick she’s ever seen but he looks at her like she invented hand jobs when she rubs her thumb over the head and it makes her dizzy.

'Oh, I'm sorry, do you have another appointment?' Trixie asks. 'Did Hamburger Mary’s have a Thursday night open up?' She twists her hand around him and he flinches all over. It feels familiar, kind of, their natural call-and-response; it’s the warm buzz she gets from making him laugh but dialled up, redirected and living somewhere different in her body. 

'Oh my God, stop,' he groans, 'if you make me come then it's over.'

'I know that. Everyone knows that. Your dad knows that.’ It's true, she does know that, but she also wanted to see what he looked like while she jerked him off. How he would move, how his abs would flex while he tried to hold off, whether he would watch her when he came over her fingers.

'Let me fuck you,' he says.

'Yeah, okay.'

*

Trixie can’t focus. She feels slippery all over, her fingers skidding frantically from Katya's thighs to her own dick, brushing over her nipples and skipping upwards to clutch at her neck. 

'You want more?' Katya asks, already reaching for the lube, dripping more over Trixie's ass. 'You sure?' 

'Yeah, yes, please,' Trixie groans, her heels dragging at the bed sheet. Katya pulls his fingers out and Trixie whines, can't help it.

'Alright mama, I've got you,' Katya says mindlessly, but all Trixie cares about is getting his fingers back inside her, filling her up again.

It had taken less time than Trixie would like to admit to get her here, spread open and begging. She didn't have latex gloves and Katya was weird about fingering bare so he'd rolled a condom over his fingers, frowning at it like he couldn't understand the mechanics. Trixie had - had fucking whimpered when he started rubbing over her asshole, because she's every homophobic stereotype come to life, and he'd just murmured 'oh, baby,' all fond and soothing, and it was almost unbearable. 

She’s tighter than she's been in years, whatever psychological bullshit making her shuddery after just one of his slim fingers slid inside her. He'd worked her through two, then three, this apparently being the sole aspect of Katya's life in which he can exert patience. Trixie isn't sure how long they've been here, actually - long enough that the light filtering through the blinds is angled low, long shadows cast across Katya's face and everything desaturated.

'Please, fuck, come on,' Trixie says again. Katya's mouth twitches like he might be about to laugh at how desperate she sounds. 'Shut up, just do it.'

Katya’s stacked his fingers neatly and used enough lube that the synthetic smell of it is plasticky in the air. It's still a lot, four of his fingers stretching her open, making space for himself in her body. Trixie closes her eyes against it, her pulse loud in her ears as she feels herself letting him in. It's not prep at this point - by the time he had three fingers in up to the knuckles Katya was saying 'girl, you know my dick isn't that big,' but Trixie wasn't done. The way he's looking at her - even in this dusky half-light his eyes are still so blue, and she's not doing anything special but he's so focused. Present. There with her, not thinking of twenty other things, not waiting to go outside to smoke, just here with her in her bed with his strong forearm flexing as he shifts his fingers and makes her yelp.

'Fuck, you're hot,' he's saying. She can feel each knuckle pressing inside her and everything else feels irrelevant.

'More,' she hears herself saying, 'please.' He looks at her like she's crazy. 

'That would be my whole fist, mama,' he says, 'I don't know you like that.'

'Fuck you, come on,' she says again, no room in her brain for rational thought.

'Stop it,' he says then, 'this is enough.' Almost - almost sternly, like he sounds very occasionally when he feels like someone isn't understanding him. It makes something in Trixie's brain sit up and take notice, with truly embarrassing effectiveness, and she nods. 

'Fine, okay,’ she says, breathing out slowly and pushing down onto his fingers.

'Good, Trixie, that's so good,' Katya says, letting her ride his hand. Trixie's thighs are trembling, all her muscles tensed and fatiguing. Katya must notice too, because he catches her behind the knee with his free arm, taking the weight onto his bicep. When he bends down to kiss her it folds her up, her leg hooking over his shoulder. 

She doesn't... do it like this, spread out and exposed for God and the world to see. It makes her feel things, fizzy and bright in her chest and throbbing dark in her belly.

'You want me to fuck you?' Katya asks, quiet and calm, like he's asking about the time of day. It's nice, how simple it is to answer that question. Nice to have clarity. Nice of him to give that to her. 

'Yeah,' she says, against his mouth.

‘Okay,' he says, like it's that easy.

He lets her get on all fours at first, because she says it's easier for her like that. It is, sort of, but it's not like she isn't prepped enough. Her hips creak when she gets her knees under her, and her arms feel like she's been flipping car tires, and frankly the sheets are pretty gross at this point, everywhere covered in sweat and lube and precome. She's just - she's not sure what her face is going to do once he gets his dick inside her. Like, it's a lot with anyone, getting used to it, your bodies shoved together in impolite ways, but with Katya... with Katya. Fuck. If she were a totally different person, there's the slightest fraction of a chance that she might cry, and that's not a reality she can live with, so. Here they are.

She starts when he rests a hand on her ass.

'Ready?' he asks. She's halfway through not dignifying that with a response when he smooths the pad of his thumb over her hole, and her gasp turns into a mortifying sob when he presses just the first half inch inside her.

'Oh my God, fuck you,' she chokes, muffled with her face in a pillow.

'Trixie,' he says, softly, and he sounds like he's going to say something else. He falls silent instead, sliding his thumb out and pressing the head of his dick there.

'Yeah,' she exhales, and he finally fucks into her, impossibly slowly. After what might be a full hour, a fucking week, he bottoms out, sharp pelvis pressed against her ass. 

'Oh my God,' someone says, and it can't have been Trixie because she'd never sound that strangled, that shaken, over some guy's dick.

'Does that -' comes his voice from somewhere behind her, far-away sounding, 'is this good?' 

How is she supposed to answer that? A billion cells are firing a billion lines of feedback at once, sensory white noise, and the bite of his fingers digging into her sides is drowning it all out. He's not still, maybe isn't trying to be, his cock stuttering back and forth incrementally.

'Fine,' she tries to say, her voice catching like prey in her throat. She swallows and gets some air back into her lungs. 'Good, it's good.' 

He's apparently done treating this like an endurance test, thank fucking God, because he grabs onto her hips tight enough to bruise and fucks her, really fucks her. It's, Jesus, it's - overwhelming, sensation flooding her like a circuit connecting. Her arms buckle immediately, down onto her elbows and then lower, pressing her face into her arms like he won't hear the sounds she's making. She bites down on her hand, teeth digging into the meat of her thumb to try to stifle her moaning. He's going hard, all that yoga apparently good for something. The thud of his hips is almost as good as his dick inside her, almost.

He stops abruptly, pulling out of her just this side of too quickly. 

'Fuck, I can't,' he says, breathing so hard it sounds painful. 'Can you - I need to see you, please?'

She rolls over, too worked up to make it into anything. Katya is a mess, blotchy all over and panting. He's gripping tightly at his dick and it punches through her, the sight of him, hard and hungry for her. As soon as she's on her back he's covering her again, running his hands over her body like he's trying to find purchase. 

'Sorry, I'm sorry,' he says between kisses, mouthing at her jaw and her throat so sloppily he's practically licking her, 'I couldn't -'

Couldn't what, she doesn't know, and he's pushing her knees up against her body and fitting his dick back into her before she can think about it.

She can hear his breath catch this time. He stays close to her, rests his sweaty forehead against hers. It's like someone tripped a fuse and now he's on generator power, fucking stretched out and analogue like a vinyl record.

'You feel so good,' he whispers into her mouth, impossibly sincere. It's too much, his forearms braced either side of her head, boxing her in, just the sight and the sound and the feel of him everywhere.

'You've got to -' she says, voice hitching wetly, 'you've got to make me come, please make me come.'

He's moving before she stops talking, groaning 'yeah, yeah' while he moves his knees in, starts snapping his hips more purposefully. Trixie has to shake out her fingers before she can grab her dick, almost crushed against his stomach with how tightly he has them pressed together. She's dripping precome, wet like a fucking girl, and she has to turn her head so she doesn't yell into his face when he hits her prostate dead on.

'Let me see, Trixie.' He sounds as desperate as she feels, pounding into her with ridiculous precision. 'Come on, you can -'

'Oh fuck,' she's saying, mindless, jacking her dick frantically, 'oh fuck, fuck -' 

It hits her white-hot, her ass clenching down so hard it has to hurt him. She sobs into his shoulder as she jerks herself through it, her come smearing over her fingers, over his skin, getting everywhere. She's still gasping through it when he says 'I have to, can I?' and she shakes all over, hypersensitive after she's come, but 'yeah, I want it, please, baby,' she tells him, and he jerks, clutching at her hand while he comes inside her.

*

It’s another California-bright day the next time he comes over. He doesn’t ask if she wants to go to his place, and she doesn’t suggest it - she’s grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, thank you, and Katya’s knives-and-Catholicism decor just isn’t it. He _had_ asked if she wanted to go hiking.

‘Uh, no, thank you,’ she’d said. ‘Take Willam or one of your other friends who won’t get recognised. You think I can just go out in public whenever I want? Riots, honey.’

He brings coffee again, pastry crumbs sprinkled across his t-shirt. He didn’t get her order right but he remembered to ask for soy milk, and he went to the good Starbucks on Melrose instead of the shitty Starbucks on Melrose, so. 

They talk while they drink their coffee, as normal as they ever are. He tells her about his show last night, an MC gig for some charity thing, about how some of these new queens look fabulous ‘but there’s no substance! There’s no artistry! Where’s the staged recreations of the Salem witch trials, where’s the visible flesh wounds? Seriously. These queens, they just look pretty.’

‘Prettier than you, definitely.’

‘You whore.’

Trixie complains about how long it’s taking to get the formulations right on her new eyeshadows while Katya rifles through her wig closet, trying on several and messing up the neat storage system. When he starts pirouetting in a $300 wig Trixie grabs it off of him and shoves him onto the couch, while she puts everything back in order. Finally she closes the door and comes to stand in front of him. 

Objectively speaking, he doesn’t look his best. The late night has left his eyes puffy, his drag alien half-eyebrows even more unruly than normal. He’d nicked himself shaving in a couple of places and his skin looks irritated. He’s watching her neutrally, one foot bouncing slightly.

The light is limning the shell of his ear, and she remembers how he shivered when she brushed her lips over it.

‘So what are we gonna do about this, girl?’ he asks.

Trixie from a couple of years ago would make different choices. Trixie from a couple of years ago didn’t know the way he sounds when he’s inside her.

‘Like, I don’t even know what you’re, like, talking about,’ Trixie says in her highest-pitched valley girl voice, taking off his baseball cap. She pulls the hem of his t-shirt up and over his head so it’s caught behind his neck, baring his torso. ‘I’m just like, so fucking, like, whatever.’ She sounds like Gia Gunn fucked a Chipmunk.

Katya’s still, letting her undress him like one of her dolls. He looks like he’s holding back a grin, the chimney-sweep remnants of last night’s eyeshadow creasing up at the corners of his eyes.

‘Yeah, you sure do seem ambivalent,’ he smirks.

‘I went to beauty school, I don’t know what ambivalent means,’ Trixie says in her normal voice, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking until they’re halfway down his thighs. He’s not all the way hard yet and the waistband of his briefs is fraying. She’d hide bodies for him.

‘It means you use both hands to -’ he starts, and then she fits her mouth over the contours of his dick and he shuts up.

**Author's Note:**

> [Sporadically on tumblr!](https://sycamoretrees.tumblr.com/)


End file.
